


The Bitter Taste of Pumpkin Juice

by Catsintheattic



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - War, Character Death, Corpses, Dark, Drama, Implied Torture, M/M, Mutilation, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-08-23
Updated: 2006-08-23
Packaged: 2017-11-27 02:55:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/657267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catsintheattic/pseuds/Catsintheattic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry, captured by Voldemort's side, gets a new cellmate, Draco Malfoy. He is here to stay, aside from the times when he is dragged away to the torture rooms. During the long weeks and months of being imprisoned, <i>Malfoy</i> slowly turns into <i>Draco</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bitter Taste of Pumpkin Juice

The door opened and they kicked a prisoner into his cell. With a scream of pain, the boy fell and tumbled down the stone steps that lead into the pit, crashing down to the floor in a heap. "Have fun, Scarface!" the guard shouted into the cell. The door closed with a loud thud, then everything was silent.

Harry had not left his corner and watched the newcomer with wary eyes. The other boy hadn't stirred at all. That it was a boy, Harry could clearly see from the narrow hips and the skinny back. No girl could have a built like that. And hopefully, no girl would have ever been whipped bloody like the boy in front of him had been. Harry sighed. He would have to take care of the other, miserable as he supposedly would be. He would have to help him recover, share his small rations and his blanket until the newcomer got some of his own. Not that Harry minded taking care of anyone in general. Sometimes, he simply wished for someone to take care of him for a change. That was all.

Harry slowly stood up, walked the few steps over to the beaten up boy and knelt down. The naked skin of his back was covered with streaks of grime and blood. He carefully turned him around, which elicited a moan from the parched lips. But Harry wasn't listening. He had frozen in the middle of his move, staring at the emaciated and even pointier face of Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. Perhaps he did mind taking care after all.

With a disgusted gasp, Harry pulled his hand away, wiping it clean on his tattered prison robes. His eyes scanned the room. This had to be a trick. Draco Malfoy was not only the son of a Death Eater high in ranks, but had taken the mark himself and was working for Voldemort. Ending here in a dungeon cell together with him, Harry Potter – it didn't make any sense. Another moan came from the boy on the floor and startled Harry out of his thoughts. Malfoy slowly came to his senses at least, starring at Harry from eyes clouded with pain.

"What happened to you?" It was a command, not a request. 

"They beat me up." 

"I can see that," Harry grunted. "But why would they do this to you?"

"Remember the night in the tower? I know you were there, Snape told me later," whispered Malfoy. Not waiting for Harry's nod, he continued. "It wasn't the only opportunity when I failed. With my father imprisoned and Snape dying a traitor's death when his cover got blown, there was nobody left to protect me. Then, there came a moment when the Dark Lord didn't rely on hunger and the Cruciatus Curse as a disciplinary measure any longer. I was too much of a failure. He gave up on me. Completely."

Harry didn't even bat an eyelash at the news about Snape. The man was dead. There was neither time nor need for regret. "Did Voldemort order the beating?"

"I don't know." Malfoy flinched, and loss glittered in his eyes. "He gave me to Macnair, who still wears a grudge against my father. Needless to say, he used his time well." Malfoy closed his eyes, obviously exhausted. "I guess they hope you will finish me off." He fell silent. His face was a wooden mask, with pain cut into the surface. 

"Fuck," Harry swore. This was worse than he had expected. If they wanted Malfoy to die, they wouldn't give him his own rations. Which meant they were going to have to live on Harry's rations alone. 

"I'm not going to finish you off." Harry turned and searched around in his sleeping corner. "Are you hungry?" 

"Not much," Malfoy answered. 

"This is not the place for being shy, we have to be honest to survive," grunted Harry. "Are you hungry, Malfoy?" A reluctant nod answered him. "Here, take that!" He handed the other boy a piece of bread. "And let's just hope they put you on their list of rations, too."

They did, surprisingly enough. The next evening, the bowl of soup was slightly more filled, the loaf of bread a bit bigger. Yet not twice as big. 

"Bastards," Harry cursed them from the depth of his heart. But he would not waste his energy on them for long. "Keep on the look out for woodlice and cockroaches, anything that's edible." Malfoy's mouth twisted in disgust, but Harry didn't intend to pass up whatever chances they were presented with.

Malfoy refused to share the blanket, though. His shivers filled the cell at night, until Harry could not stand it any longer. He dragged Malfoy to his sleeping corner and forced him to lie between himself and the wall, pulling one part of the blanket over the other boy. "Stop that fuss, now," Harry snarled, "I want to sleep. I need my strength." Malfoy lay stock-still. But after half an hour or so, the shivering stopped and Harry drifted off to sleep.

***

They came back for Malfoy on the fourth day. He panicked and tried to escape through the dungeon wall. Macnair kicked him in the ribs. The boy screamed.

"What has he done to you?" questioned Harry, watching the turmoil. "Why don't you leave him alone?" 

Macnair laughed. "Oh, I see. You got yourself a pet." 

"Little Harry Potter, got himself a toy. Who keeps him warm and hap-py, although it is a boy." That was Bella, mocking him in a sing song voice, while toying with the whip in her hand. Her wand held Harry at bay, while Macnair snatched the struggling Malfoy up from the ground. A howl of fear answered him. Macnair laughed again, and shouldered his light prey, in spite of Malfoy's desperate attempts to kick his captor. The two Death Eaters retreated from the cell, taking Malfoy with them. Harry could hear his terrified screams even after the door of the cell had fallen shut.

When they brought him back some hours later, the other boy didn't scream any longer. Shivering violently, he stared about himself, not making any eye contact with Harry. When Harry held a hand out to him tentatively, he cowered and shrank away from the touch. Then, hugging his knees to his chest, he covered his ears with his hands, and started rocking softly forwards and backwards. Harry only sighed and busied himself with cleaning their cell.

"What do they want from you?" Harry asked, with his eyes narrowed, when Malfoy had finally snapped back to the reality of their cell. 

"I have no idea," Malfoy answered, sounding helpless, and although his answer didn't make any sense, Harry believed him.

***

On many of the days that followed, he did not get an answer at all. On those days he simply watched the other boy and tried to concentrate on passing the time.

***

When the food tray was pushed into the cell one evening, Harry found that their diet had been improved. Among the usual bowl of thin soup and the lump of bread, beside the flask of water, lay a dead rat. "Hey, Scarface!" The guard's voice sounded through the wooden door. "I thought your pet would like an extra treat. We had so much fun with him today." Howling with laughter, he closed the food trap.

Harry touched the rat. It was still warm. They were starving to death, two boys living only on a bowl of soup and some bread. Resolutely, he turned to their sleeping corner and retrieved a sharp stone, kept for the rare occasions when meat was provided. Well, this was meat. And he would be damned if he wouldn't use it.

"Malfoy, come on, wake up!" Harry urged the supine form of his companion into a half sitting position. "Look what I have..." Draco's face lit up, tentatively. "They put some flesh into the soup today, it will give you strength." Harry held the spoon in front of the other's mouth, coaxing gently. 

Draco carefully took a sip, wincing when the spoon touched his bloodied lips. He swallowed the liquid and started chewing. "It's almost raw." 

"I know, but don't mind that now. It will help us survive, that's what counts." Harry dipped a piece of bread into the broth. "Here, have some of that, too." 

Draco swallowed his meat and took the bread. The skin on his hands was of a translucent shade of blue, with the bones almost shining through. "Why are you doing this, Potter? Why are you helping me?" 

Harry only shrugged. "I could not very well let you die in here." He smiled mischievously and took a spoonful for himself. "Imagine the smell, Malfoy." Draco's grin, however lopsided, answered him; and this was more that enough.

***

Days turned into weeks, which stretched themselves into months of suffering and silent fighting.

***

It got worse with every time they came. Sometimes they would interrogate Harry. Most of the time they came for Draco, dragging him from the cell, screaming. When they brought him back, he was always silent – due to seeking retreat in some protected corner of his mind or simply from being unconscious. He always refused to be touched, and Harry would gently nurse him back to life, with the help of some water, tiny scraps of food and whispered words; stories of another time and place, where they would taste pumpkin juice and feel a soft, fresh breeze on their skin. And Draco, who became even more skin and bones with every new week, complied with his efforts and listened with bright eyes.

***

Then, one day, when they brought him back to the cell, the tortured boy didn't shy away from the contact of Harry's hand. And Harry understood that this was not, because Draco felt no pain or finally had decided to let Harry come closer, but because he was too weak to move.

"Draco, come, I'll get you up again." Harry lifted the delicate head and tried to instil some drops of water into Draco's mouth. Draco took a few sips, but then a coughing fit seized him. Harry hastily put the water bottle aside and rubbed a light hand over the heaving chest of his comrade. "Shh, stop coughing. It's too exhausting. You need to recover."

"Stop it, Harry." The silence was still ringing with Draco's whispered command, when he continued, "I won't, and you know it."

"You won't what?"

"I won't recover. And I need you to help me, Harry, please. End it." The smile on Draco's lips was like the grin from the bony mouth of a skull.

"What are you talking about? Have you gone mad?" Harry sounded angry now, the anger masking his concern. He shook the other boy slightly, ignoring his whimpers. "Draco, no, don't give up hope. Don't you know there is always hope, no matter how dark the time might seem?"

Draco sprang to life. "How dare you say something like that? Next time they come for me, they will cut the flesh from my bones. Macnair told me today, you heard him, and you know what he's capable of! I'd rather die from your hands than suffer another night under his whips and knifes and the bloodthirsty craziness of my aunt. I can't take it any longer." His eyes showed every bit of the pain and the fear that kept exhausting him, before his head sank on his chest again, weary to the bone and marrow. He did not even complain when Harry took him in his arms.

"Draco," whispered Harry, "Draco, don't. Please. Don't give up hope. Not now. Help is close at hand, I know it. Please, don't give up."

Draco lifted his head. "What do you mean, help is close and you know it? What do you know?"

Harry hugged Draco a little closer, careful not to hurt the other boy. "I just know." He sighed. 

Draco stiffened in his arms. "Don't give me that shit," he whispered, his voice raspy from exhaustion.

"I would never lie to you," came Harry's whispered answer. 

"No, but you can live with keeping some of the truth to yourself!" And with that, Draco closed his eyes and became oblivious to the world around him. Finally, Harry fell into an exhausted sleep himself, the limp form of Draco Malfoy still firmly held in his arms.

He awoke to the darkness of the cell surrounding him. Draco stirred slightly. Harry's stomach grumbled. He freed himself from his sleeping mate and felt at the entrance for their tray of food. The soup was stone cold and the bread harder than ever. No rat today. Well, it didn't matter. You couldn't count on your luck on a day when the one you cared for had been tortured to the point of wishing for death. 

Harry slowly crept back to Draco and found him awake. "Want to share some soup?" As expected, Draco shook his head. "Tomorrow night's midsummer night," Harry said. "Tomorrow night, this war will end. We will be free, Draco. Tomorrow night." 

Draco stared at him in disbelief, his face nothing but a grey shadow in the night. "What's so special about tomorrow night, Harry?" His voice sounded dead to the world, and he was dying. 

And Harry told him, haltingly, whispering, about the last discovery that Dumbledore had made, about the research Hermione had done and about the resistance that Ron had formed from the last members of the Order and every new volunteer who could be recruited. He told Draco that everything was planed, so that they would be able to strike even if he, Harry, would be captured and not survive. And he noticed in spite of the darkness how Draco's eyes started gleaming again, how life came back into them. 

When everything was told, he offered the soup for a second time. His relief was beyond measure when Draco nodded his assent. After their sparse meal, they snuggled against each other under the blanket. Falling asleep, Harry felt the warmth of Draco's body radiating against his own.

***

He woke up the next morning to find Draco already awake and alert. He looked better, very much better indeed. Hope was life. Harry relaxed into a smile. Today, everything would end. There would be pumpkin juice and a fresh breeze on their skin. He could almost feel them in anticipation.

Draco was restless. Every now and then he would stand up and walk around in the tiny space of their cell. Harry wondered if the prospect of the oncoming end was making him nervous. "Relax, Draco. Everything will be fine." And Draco came to his side and allowed Harry to cuddle him briefly.

When the sun finally reached their cell around noon, Draco sighed and stood up again. He walked over to the entrance of the cell and knocked at the wooden door. "Don't do that! Let's stay low for today." The blond boy stepped back from the door, which opened as if someone outside had been waiting for a signal from the inside. Lucius Malfoy stood in the doorway. He looked like he had never been to Azkaban at all. 

"Father," said Draco, "I'm ready."

Harry leaped to his feet. "What do you mean, Draco, you're ready?" 

"I'm Malfoy to you, Potter!" Draco mocked. His old sneer was back in its place, more elaborate than ever. 

"Draco? What is happening to you? I don't understand!" Confusion was evident on Harry's face, confusion and a rapidly growing sense of unease. 

"I know that you don't understand. That was the whole concept behind this brilliant plan of mine. Finally, I didn't fail the Dark Lord. I knew you would fall for it. This whole idea of rescuing people, it worked again. You would even rescue me, a fallen Death Eater. And you did."

"But... they... they abandoned you. They tortured you."

"We used glamours. And they took me from the cell to renew the glamours. Didn't you ever notice how careful they were not to hurt me in front of you?"

"They k-k-kicked you around." Harry's tongue stumbled through its task of keeping a conversation.

"We simply acted out a play for you. And you believed every direction of its course." Draco eyed him wearily.

"You never wanted to be touched," Harry concluded. Draco only closed his eyes for a brief moment and swallowed, like an acknowledgement to Harry's words.

"But on your first day... and last night as well... I held you..." Harry haltingly tried to fit the pieces together, but failed. Even if his mind already knew the truth, his heart was unwilling to take the pain. "You hurt... then."

"One has to make sacrifices for a higher cause," Draco answered with a ghost of his old sneer, but lopsided as ever. He stretched and turned around. "Goodbye, Potter." His voice was low. "I guess that we won't see each other again."

"Why did you wait so long to tell them? You were in doubt, Draco. Why else would you wait?" Harry asked Draco's retreating back. 

He got no answer.

"You said you loved me." Harry's voice was nothing more than a whisper. It was completely lost in the crashing sound of the closing door.

***

Once outside the cell, Draco Malfoy rested his head against the cold stone wall, contemplating on Harry's words for a brief moment. What had him made to wait so long?

"Draco?" His father's voice cut into his thoughts, concerned. "Are you not well? What are you waiting for?" 

He felt his father's hand on his shoulder and violently shrugged it off. "What do you expect? I've been living on soup and bread for months," snarled Draco. Shutting himself off from his father's concern, he took some moments to gather his composure. Then he preceded the elder Malfoy and took the stone steps up into the Main Hall of the Manor, to give his report exclusively to the Dark Lord. Time was precious.

***

On the first day, the resistance was overrun with a last minute surprise attack. None of them survived. Rumours spread that a howling, that had lost every trace of its humanity, could be heard continuously from the lower dungeons.

On the second day, the remaining Muggles were enslaved. Their fate was sealed before they even knew they had been captured, Obliviated and Imperioed. Only their shells remained behind, a never-ending source of victims and playthings.

On the third day, the Death Eaters walked the earth. They wandered in blood and green light. Death was at their side.

The land lay wasted. The Dark Lord ruled. Ruthless and Unforgivable.

***

The celebration was huge, although with one minor drawback. The plan had been to slowly kill Harry Potter during the course of the evening, as an ongoing festivity for the Dark Lord. But when they opened the door of his cell, the Boy Who Lived was found dead. He had been dead for several days, stated the Mediwizard who investigated the limp body. Apparently, his heart had given out.

Therefore, the Dark Lord contented himself with mutilating the dead boy and spilling his blood. He cast a quick _Refluctus_ on the corpse, which lay on the stone table in front of him. Then he took a ritual dagger and slit open the body's throat. The liquid poured warm and red from the wound, as from a freshly slaughtered lamb.

His Death Eaters cheered, as he raised the goblet to his lips.

Lucius Malfoy wiped a drop of blood from his robes and showed for once a genuine smile to the world. Then he sent one of the lower werewolves to look for his son, who was unjustifiably missing the glorious height of the event.

***

And Draco Malfoy? His body was never found. But those few who dare to speak of such things say that a ghost still haunts the cell in the dungeons where Harry Potter was held captive two hundred years ago. Even the rats flee the place. You can hear him crying and weeping, whispering his repentance to the dark. They say he never looks at you, but is on his knees, praying for forgiveness. Harry had denied him his false death wish and out of the goodness of his heart tried to give him a reason to live. Draco knows he will live forever in the white and icy purgatory that is remembrance, and will never again know the feeling of a fresh breeze on his skin or how sweet the taste of pumpkin juice could be. 

**Author's Note:**

> I thank mikabird for the beta and the elimination of 'explanatory overkill'. She nudged me to write a proper ending that mirrors the title, and there would never be a _Refluctus_ spell without her critical observation!


End file.
